


Plainsong

by lamentforboromir



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentforboromir/pseuds/lamentforboromir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sometimes you make me feel like I'm living at the edge of the world</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plainsong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marchingjaybird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/gifts).



> Just a tiny little something I wrote as a prompted drabble on Tumblr. I ended up being really happy with it, so I figured I might as well share it. 
> 
> First time writing these boys, so please let me know how I can improve. My brain is already concocting more sweet little ideas.
> 
> Title and summary taken from The Cure's song of the same name.

They meet again later, after battle, after Frodo and Sam are safely in their warm beds, when night passes into peace with a full moon shining.

Gimli takes a long drag of smoke, his father’s old pipe clutched between callused fingers. He sneaks a glimpse at Legolas admiring the great White Tree, though he makes no move to touch it. The wind is soft in the night, playing gently with the end of blond hair. Gimli turns back before he lingers too long.

As if he knows of the eyes that look upon him ( _of course he knows, he always knows_ ), Legolas breaks the silence with an, “Are you glad?”

Gimli blinks, turns to face the Elf as he takes another puff of smoke. Tobacco is softer here in Minas Tirith, sweeter than he remembered as a child. “Glad of what?”

Legolas replies without so much as looking in his direction. “Glad that you did not have to die beside an Elf.”

It’s the smoke that makes him cough, Gimli swears to it, and as he lets out a long hack, he can feel those blue eyes on him, watching him, though whether it is out of concern or plain curiosity, Gimli does not know. Does not think he will ever know. But Legolas begins again, “I knew a Dwarf who displayed nothing but contempt for my people. Who scorned our history and our ways. Who vowed to never trust us.” His gaze is unshaking, his voice soft. “Would that Dwarf be glad that he did not have to die by an Elf?”

Gimli closes his eyes.

Dwarves do not tremble. They are solid, they are sturdy, they do not sway. And yet at Legolas’ words, Gimli can feel a faint tremor in his hands. He takes his pipe, running his fingers over the smooth wood as the words slowly come to him, form in the cloud of his mind. “That Dwarf," he begins, "I cannot speak for, but this Dwarf is glad enough that he did not have to lose a friend.”

“A friend?”

Gimli looks up, expects to see Legolas’ usual half-smile, instead sees eyes that are too blue staring into him. As if he is trying to divine the answer from the braiding in his beard. “Aye,” Gimli replies, weak. “A friend.”

Legolas takes a step toward him and something in Gimli awakens. A small part of his heart left shut, locked for fear of use and damage.

“A brother,” he says as Legolas takes another step closer. Gimli is all too aware of the way the moonlit glow of Legolas’ pale skin, has always been. “A companion. A partner.”

When Legolas blinks, Gimli fights the urge to cough, to look away and forget the beating of his heart like hammers in a forge. The way his blood is running through him, too warm for a cool night. Legolas’ voice is soft. “Is that all that this Dwarf is glad for?”

Gimli takes a breath, indulges that clench of his heart when he nods. With an exhale, he forces himself to look at his pipe, focus on the aged woodwork. “This Dwarf is glad for the glimmering jewels beneath the earth, for the blessing of the Lady of the Light, and that he may call his Elf companion his.”

He expects the silence. He welcomes it, taking another puff of that sweet smoke and he watches the twinkling stars in a cloudless night.

Gimli does not expect Legolas to sidle next to him, wordless, to gingerly cover one ungloved hand with his own.

His heart is somehow fuller, his breath is short, and even as his gaze remains fixed on the night sky, Gimli knows that Legolas is smiling.


End file.
